Wired
by Callisto Callispi
Summary: Ariadne builds Arthur's dreamscape, and she turns to a new drug to sustain her creative drive: caffeine.


**Author's Notes**: A _huge_ thanks to my beta, Snakeling. She caught things that I never would have, and helped me through some particularly tricky details. (Who knew paradoxical architecture could never happen in 3D? …Hm, maybe it was obvious to everyone but me. :p) Much love and gratitude!

I originally intended this to be a moderately short ficlet, maybe around 1,500 words. But the words kept coming and coming after the one thousand mark, and the story did not want to end. Good for you guys (I hope), and very bad for my grades. Serious in some places, just plain cracked out in others, and if you squint really hard, you can spot tiny bite-sized pieces of sweet, sharp romance. Enjoy, my pretties.

**Disclaimer**: The onset of the European Enlightenment coincided with the mass distribution of coffee in Europe during the 17th century. Take what you will from that.

**Real Disclaimer**: Inception does not belong to me, but I do enjoy coffee. …What?

* * *

><p><strong>Wired<strong>_  
>By Callisto Callispi<em>

Ariadne cocked her head to the side, staring at the smooth stainless steel covering of the machine. It looked like some sort of time capsule—a time capsule of sci-fi proportions with colorful M&M-like buttons and various compartments designed to hold coffee bags, powdered milk, sugar, and creamer.

"Bloody hell, Yusuf. I ask for a simple latte and you bring home _this_ monstrosity?" Eames snapped behind Ariadne.

Yusuf sniffed indignantly. "With this machine, you can get better quality coffee than the rubbish they sell in the cafés."

As Yusuf started to demonstrate the mechanisms of the machine, the others took a break from their research on Fischer Morrow and circled around Yusuf. After a dizzying number of steps—adjusting the height of the dispenser to fit the cup, placing the coffee package in one compartment, a package of powdered milk in another, stacking specially designed cubes of sugar somewhere on the dispenser, and punching a few colored buttons—Yusuf pressed the "Brew" button. The members all watched in interest as the machine started to make a series of whirring noises as it dispensed dark liquid and foam. After a minute, the machine bleeped.

Yusuf pulled the mug out from the machine and handed it to Eames, who accepted it with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"That seems like an overly complicated process for a cup of coffee," Dom said. He liked his coffee black.

"It's state of the art." Yusuf turned to Eames. "Try it. It's the best latte you will get on this continent."

Arthur snorted slightly in disbelief.

Eames placed the rim of the cup on his lips and delicately sipped on the steaming beverage. Everyone looked on curiously.

"Well?" Yusuf demanded.

Eames pulled the mug away, his cupid's bow comically covered in foam. "Frothy." He licked his lips and smirked. "And pretty damned good."

…

Ariadne was never much of a coffee drinker. She really disliked bitter things. In fact, she could barely swallow down a cup of Earl Grey without milk and sugar, and she felt no desire to start torturing her taste buds now. She was mildly horrified to see Dom gulping down mouthfuls of plain, black coffee. No creamer, no sugar, nothing.

For a while, she watched impassively as the other members of the group slowly yet surely gravitated towards the coffee machine. Dom, never one for much embellishment, simply pressed "Brew" and promptly returned to his desk with his trademark black coffee to brood or research. Eames was more experimental, often spending ten minutes at a time mixing different flavor packages.

It was only during one particularly late night at the warehouse that Ariadne sampled the wonders of the coffee machine.

She had been pacing back and forth, shooting death glares at her architectural model of the second level of the dream for the Fischer inception. She was trying to construct escape routes that would cohere with the layout of the hotel, but was coming up with a blank or passages that were just aesthetically awkward.

Arthur hadn't liked her model at all, judging by his expression earlier that day. She caught him staring at her models and, dear lord, _cringing_.

Ouch.

And though it was only a draft, and though they did have a few weeks to finalize things, his disapproval stung more that it should have. She was an architect and an artist, both in school and on the team, and she intended to live up to both standards.

It was _his_ level of the dream that she was designing, after all. Plus, she wanted to impress Arthur. Maybe just a little bit more than anyone else on the team.

Unfortunately, her brain refused to connect the necessary synapses for her to construct the genius dreamscape that she knew she was capable of.

It was 1 AM and her head was buzzing with fatigue, but she couldn't sleep. The look on Arthur's face earlier that day made her shudder at the thought of even leaving the warehouse. She needed to fix this by morning.

"Rough night, sweetheart?" asked a cheerful voice from behind her.

Eames walked up and set down a mug of steaming something on the table. Ariadne sniffed, wincing as the bitter aroma of coffee assaulted her senses.

"Now, don't give me that face. Or else you won't get dessert," Eames tut-tutted. "You look a fright. I made this special mixture for you—it's not too hot or cold, too black or creamy, too bitter or sweet. It's just right."

Ariadne accepted the mug with both hands. "You just want another lab rat for one of your concoctions."

"I'm concerned for you, that's all. You look so haggard, and I thought you would enjoy this little pick-me-up."

That comment would have been sincerely touching if his shit-eating grin didn't give him away completely.

"Yusuf couldn't take any more?" she asked dryly.

"Chap's bouncing off the walls," Eames admitted.

Ariadne set down the mug. "It needs to cool," she said. "But thank you."

Eames smirked and walked away. "You're welcome, Goldilocks."

Ariadne couldn't help but smile. She turned back to the model and rearranged the layout, placing the stairs here and there. Nothing looked good, and as the minutes dragged on, her eyelids got heavier.

Perhaps it _was_ time for a little pick-me-up.

Mug in hand, Ariadne stared skeptically at the caramel-colored liquid. It looked creamy enough. Shrugging, Ariadne took a sip, and was pleasantly surprised at the smooth, almost vanilla taste.

Ariadne pulled the mug from her lips and blinked, her expression a mixture of suspicion and pleasure. The coffee _she_ made never tasted this good.

In five minutes, Ariadne finished the entire mug. Ten minutes later, as she played around with the dreamscape layout, she suddenly had an epiphany on where she could place the escape route in the hotel. She rearranged the hotel stairs, envisioning a Penrose staircase. It could easily enable Arthur to switch paths along the staircase to evade his pursuers, if need be. She drew an exceedingly precise image of the staircase on a blue sticky note and stuck it onto the side of the builder.

Ariadne stepped back and smiled proudly at her small adjustment. It was a perfect mix of unassuming grace and subtle cunning.

And the best part was that she had a lot more ideas as to how she could improve the layout.

Ariadne grinned broadly, feeling wired and more awake than ever. After another hour, her layout was riddled with different bits of brightly colored sticky notes. She took a quick break to ask Eames to make her another cup of whatever that delicious caramel-vanilla mixture was, and with another steaming mug of coffee next to her, Ariadne rolled up her sleeves and began to completely rearrange the layout of the hotel.

Her dreamscape was going to blow Arthur's mind so much that he wouldn't know what was up and down and front and back. Literally.

…

By the morning, Ariadne felt dead. She was slumped in one of the lawn chairs in the warehouse, practically melting into the cheap vinyl banding. Her eyes were blearily open, facing the door of the warehouse. She'd pulled an all-nighter—something she had hardly ever done even as a student—to finalize her model.

As usual, Arthur was the first to walk into the warehouse, dressed sharply in a beige waistcoat, a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and hair immaculately slicked back. He shrugged off his jacket as he turned to shut the warehouse door. But, as if he felt a pair of eyes boring holes into the back of his head (yeah, _hers_), he whipped around, posture tense and eyes wary.

He looks like a panther ready to pounce, Ariadne mused.

Upon seeing her, however, Arthur's posture relaxed only very slightly. To her surprise, he rushed over to her and bent down, looking into her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning the length of her body.

In her slightly dazed state, Ariadne was slow to catch on why he was looking at her so intensely.

Arthur stepped back, confusion etching more lines into his already worried expression. His eyes slowly roamed over her body once more. "Are you hurt?"

Oh, Ariadne suddenly realized. He was searching for injuries, not checking her out.

She forced herself out of the chair and stood on wobbly legs. Arthur made to move to help her, but Ariadne stopped him with a heavy hand.

"I'm fine. Just a bit tired. But you're going to like this," she said, motioning for him to follow.

Arthur blinked, but followed soon after her.

"What do you think?" she asked him once they reached the desk where she situated her dreamscape.

Her model was much bigger than the previous one. In fact, it was almost five times as big as before and was host to 2D models of impossible stairs, never ending ringed passageways, inside-out towers, and other paradoxical structures, all color-coded in blues, greens, pinks and yellows. She couldn't recreate the architecture three dimensionally in reality but Arthur could in the dream, and she was eager to show him how.

And that was only the first layer of the onion.

As she delved into explaining the intricacies of her model, all of her sleepiness forgotten, Ariadne was amazed at how much work she had gotten done over the span of the past five hours and four mugs of coffee. Eventually, over the course of the night, Eames had taught her how to make that magical brew for herself before retiring with a "God save you" and the tip of an imaginary hat. She worked in manic silence after that and finished just as the morning sun started peaking in through one of their few windows.

Through out her explanation, Arthur remained silent and his expression stoic.

Ariadne felt her initial elation falter slightly. "So, what do you think?"

Arthur spoke carefully, each word clipped yet gently delivered. "Did you stay up all night doing this?"

Ariadne flushed. "I-I mean, well, not the _whole_ night."

Arthur stared at her pointedly but offered a small smile. He circled the display slowly, scrutinizing the details of her model closely, almost like a vulture circling in before the kill. Ariadne had to bite back various bits of commentary on this secret passageway and that exit. Masterfully, she thought, she endured the silence until Arthur began speaking again.

"It's…genius," he said. He looked up at her. "Simply genius, Ariadne."

"Really?" Ariadne asked, heat blossoming across her cheeks.

He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "But… I just…I don't know how to say this, but I don't…"

Ariadne felt her heart flop. Coupled with the insane amount of coffee she consumed, she was going to get an aneurism if he kept playing with her emotions like this. "What is it?"

He looked up, the lines of his furrowed brows further accentuated by the morning sunlight streaming in through the window. "I don't think this layout would work. It's too complex."

Ariadne felt as if the air were punched out of her. "Oh," she said after a pregnant pause.

"I'm sorry, Ariadne," Arthur said gently. "It's a genius layout, really."

Ariadne didn't speak because something had risen up to her throat, and she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, everything would come up. The earlier despair, the hollowing exhaustion, the manic spurts of inspiration, the meticulous attention to every single detail, the _hope _that he would just like what she worked on for hours! So she just clenched her jaw tightly shut and nodded stiffly in a manner that she hoped wasn't ungracious.

Arthur pointed out some structures that he thought could be changed, but Ariadne at this point was only half-aware of his existence. All she felt was a deep, dark desire to fall into her bed and never get up again.

After a few minutes, she nodded her understanding, promised to fix the layout as soon as possible, and picked up her jacket to leave, pleading fatigue. She avoided Arthur's sympathetic gaze as she rearranged the scarf on her neck.

For one wild moment she wanted to overturn the whole stupid layout, but she smartly restrained herself. She would have to make another sooner or later, and she didn't want to start from scratch.

No, she would just consult Arthur and build what _he_ wanted.

Her inner artist blanched at the thought of creating another's vision, but her stronger, sleep-deprived self quelled it ruthlessly.

God, she needed some sleep.

And because she couldn't do it at Arthur, she threw an evil glare at the coffee machine as she walked out of the warehouse.

…

Ariadne dreamt.

Perhaps it was the result of her disoriented circadian rhythm, or Arthur's gentle rejection—which was so much worse than a flat-out rejection; at least then she could find solace in being pissed off!—but this dream was more graphic that usual.

She was high above the middle of a dark, convoluted labyrinth of thick briar hedges, marble busts of mythical figures and creatures, and flagpoles that proudly sported her many different scarves. Ariadne forgot what she wore, but she did remember that she was barefooted because the tips of her toes just barely grazed the pointed tip of the structure she was on. She was suspended high up in the air, like a floating ornament.

Or a prize, she amended, as she watched with all-seeing eyes the men struggling to battle through the tangles of her labyrinth and despairing when they came upon a fork in the road. They were trying to reach the center, reach _her_, to break her free from her prison. But the paths were devious and lured them further and further away.

Yusuf, in bunny ears and a cottontail pinned behind his pants, hopped around, constantly staring at his watch. His wide eyes shifted back and forth, skittish and perhaps fearful of the depths of the labyrinth. He strayed towards the edges, unwilling to even attempt to penetrate her labyrinth. Instead, he brewed himself a cup of coffee with eight different flavor packages and eight cubes of sugar, and sipped on it with a caterpillar.

Eames ran and ran and ran through the maze, his laughter echoing through the passageways of the labyrinth. Sometimes, he would approach a marble statue bust and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to turn into the statue. When he opened his eyes, he would remain unchanged, but he didn't know that and would proceed to swing his imaginary sword and slay his imaginary dragons.

Dom would hardly move from the clearing of a fork in the road, but he stared up at her with a wistful smile on his lips.

_Hello, Lady Weaver_, he would say to her.

_Wrong myth_, she would chide gently with a smile.

Dom's blue eyes glowed like neon lights in the darkening gloom. _I know, but you're not my Mistress of Labyrinths quite yet._

Eames rushed up next to Dom and stiffened his arms at his sides and locked his knees, becoming as still as a board, trying to imitate Dom.

Ariadne wanted to offer them both a cup of steaming black coffee.

_Don't let your Theseus lose himself, Lady Weaver_, Dom reminded.

Oh yes, how could she forget? She took off her red jacket, plucked a loose piece of thread, and pulled. Slowly the jacket unravelled as twines of red gathered around her feet. Gathering the thread in her arms, she searched the labyrinth for her Theseus.

Where was he? He was supposed to be there. He said he would come.

She built this labyrinth for him, after all.

Ariadne felt panicked as she whipped around in her glass cage, desperately searching for him. He was supposed to get her out. How could he not be here?

The world trembled around them, and Ariadne felt an onslaught of vertigo as she realized how ridiculously far up she was from the ground. Suddenly—as impeccable as timing is in dreams—the structure under her feet started to topple, and the glass cage that insulated her from the wind started to crack.

"I'm going to fall!" she shrieked, all the while looking around to find some jutting structure that she could lasso with her thread and hopefully hang on. She saw nothing but clouds.

The glass cage finally shattered, and the wind assaulted her, whipping her hair and her skirts back and forth so she couldn't see anything. The stone blocks under her feet started to topple over, and Ariadne jumped from the collapsing tower.

"And thar she blows!" Eames cried in a really lousy American accent, his hand shading his eyes as he watched her flailing in the wind.

"That's for _whales_, you idiot!" Ariadne screamed as she waved her arms around like a windmill, fruitlessly trying to stay up in the air.

"Would you like some tea?" Yusuf asked, this time full out in his bunny suit, carrying a silver tray with a steaming teacup, a small cup of milk, and stylishly shaped sugar blocks. A set of tiny wings sprouting from his upper back fluttered voraciously to keep him suspended in the air.

"No, thank you!" Ariadne screeched, trying at least to remember her manners.

The tower completely toppled over, and Ariadne screamed as she felt herself free falling into her own dark labyrinth.

…

Ariadne sat up, breathing hard, finding herself in the dark. _What the…_

Even now, the dream started to recede from her memories like water slipping through fingers. She concentrated hard to remember, to keep _some_ part of it with her, because she felt the dream was important in some way.

But all she could remember was Yusuf with pink, fuzzy bunny ears, offering her a cup of tea with too much milk and sugar and wagging his cottontail as the world collapsed around her.

The fuck?

Ariadne turned her lamp on and automatically reached for her chess piece. She placed it on top of the table but hesitated before toppling it over.

She closed her eyes. The toppling tower, just like her chess piece, both in reality and in dream.

What did this mean?

Ariadne sat quietly in her bed, noting that it was 9 PM and that she'd slept through the whole day.

Ah, what the hell.

Ariadne poked the chess piece, and it fell just as it would in reality.

…

She ventured into the warehouse a bit late the next morning, and her reasoning was obvious: she didn't want to face Arthur alone, if at all.

No one noted her absence yesterday, but Eames did shoot a mildly sympathetic smile at her. Ariadne pretended she didn't see it. Maybe she was just cranky or something, but she felt a bit annoyed at Eames, as if he told everyone behind her back that she was fat.

Ariadne shook her head. She really shouldn't mess up her sleeping schedule again.

Slowly, she faced the convoluted monster that was her second-level layout, feeling a pinprick of embarrassment as her gaze trailed over the absurdly colorful escape mechanisms and elaborate labyrinths.

She couldn't blame Arthur for not liking it, to be honest, now that she looked at it with a clear head. Besides that, he was being a professional in telling her. He couldn't very well build a dreamscape that he didn't like on her selfish instructions. It would have been unstable.

Grumpily, Ariadne started to deconstruct some of her most elaborate buildings and kept at it tirelessly for the next half hour. The stack of colorful sticky notes piled up at the edge of the model.

Eames, sensing her mood, quietly brought her a cup of something steaming and sweet-smelling.

"It's a new mix, dear heart. Sweet and creamy, just like you," he said, wagging his eyebrows.

Ariadne scoffed at his portrayal of her, but thanked him as well. She felt a little better after the first sip, and from then on, she continued to work, methodically dissembling the convolutions in her design to slowly reveal the simple, yet elegant, blueprint underneath.

…

Ariadne hadn't realized how hard and late she was working until Dom patted her on the shoulder. She jumped slightly and turned around, meeting his shockingly blue eyes with her own.

"Ariadne, it's getting late. You should go home," he said.

Ariadne peered over his shoulder, seeing that the shadowy warehouse was empty except for her, Dom, and Arthur. She then glanced at her own project. It was almost finished—so close to perfection. She couldn't abandon it now; she would lose her inspiration.

Ariadne shook her head. "I want to finish this. It'll take a few more hours, I think, but I should be able to finish it before midnight."

Dom peered at her for a bit before nodding in understanding. "It bites and doesn't let go, does it? The design, the power to create whatever you want."

Ariadne looked back down at her layout of the hotel. She wanted to see it in person. She wanted to see those walls and stairs and passageways rise up around her. "It has a strong pull," she admitted. "It'll be so great, Dom. The first level, and the second, and the third… Everything is fitting together so seamlessly, as if it was almost, I don't know, _meant_ to work out like this. It will be perfect for the inception. You'll see."

She was surprised at her own vigor and passion. But this was her project, her work of art, and she intended to make it perfect.

Dom nodded, a rare smile creeping up the corner of his lips. "I believe that, Ariadne."

He left soon afterwards for his apartment. Sometimes, he slept in the warehouse, but Ariadne figured that everyone needed some personal alone time.

She turned back and eyed the model critically, stifling a yawn. What time was it? Ariadne checked her watch. 7:23 PM, and already her energy was beginning to flag. Did she dare brew another cup of coffee? Just one would be okay because it was still early, and she knew she would sleep earliest by 1 AM, which gave her close to six hours to burn the caffeine away.

That was enough.

After slipping in the correct coffee packages and powdered milk, Ariadne impatiently waited as the machine whirred and sputtered out foam. Her mind was feeling fuzzy with fatigue yet so _alive_ with ideas. Her fingers itched to play with her layout.

Why couldn't this machine work faster?

"I didn't know you were such a coffee drinker," a deep voice said from behind her.

Ariadne turned to face Arthur.

_Oh, don't blush!_

"I'm usually not," she said coolly. She silently congratulated herself on her professionalism. "At least until Eames insisted that I try his concoctions. I don't know if it's the flavor or the caffeine, but I think I'm slowly becoming an addict."

Arthur stared down at her, smirking in amusement.

The machine bleeped, and Ariadne turned to take her mug out. She breathed in the smell of caramel and cream, relishing in its sweet bitterness. "How do you take your coffee?" Ariadne asked. "I can make you a cup."

She was surprised when Arthur chuckled. "I actually don't drink coffee."

Ariadne paused. "No way!" But then as she thought back on it, she never remembered Arthur using the machine. But if that was the case, how was he so alert and awake all the time? He came earlier than anyone else to the warehouse, clear headed and ready to start the day. Ariadne, on the other hand, could barely manage to wake up completely by noon.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I prefer to condition myself on natural things, such as a healthy diet, exercise, and plenty of sleep," he said with a playful smile.

Ariadne snorted. "Super human complex," she drawled. "You do pull it off well. Anyway, I should finish up that layout. I want to try to finish it before midnight, but in any case it should be ready by tomorrow. I think you'll like it better than the previous one, but if not, just let me know what you want to add or take out."

As she walked away, however, Ariadne was suddenly pulled back by Arthur's grip on her arm. She almost spilled her coffee but steadied herself just in time.

"Hold on," he said quietly. "About that layout…"

Ariadne, despite herself, felt her heart beat a little bit faster. He was still holding her arm, and her cheek grazed the vest of his suit. They were too close. "What about it?"

"I apologize for my bluntness a few days ago. I should have realized that you spent a lot of time on that model, and for me to ask you to change it… Well, it doesn't seem fair."

Ariadne breathed out, feeling his hand on her arm getting warmer and warmer by the second. "It's all right. You did the right thing—the structure of the dream should cohere with the dreamer's preferences. Otherwise, the dream will fall apart that much more easily."

Arthur didn't respond, and Ariadne took it as an affirmation that she was right.

He finally let go, though he did it very hesitantly, almost reluctantly. His fingers ghosted over the crook of her arm and grazed her elbow before removing themselves completely. Ariadne swallowed down a lump in her throat.

Arthur stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

Heart pounding.

"What?"

Suddenly, he looked abashed. "Why did you change the layout of the dream so suddenly?"

Ah, was it time to come clean? "I thought you would like it better."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "What made you think I didn't like the original model?"

Ariadne flushed. How to tell him without seeming like a desperate, moony-eyed schoolgirl? "Ah, um, well, I saw you looking at it earlier this week, and I saw you… Well, you didn't seem to like it."

Arthur stared at her with that calm, ponderous look. It was his scientist look, the look he got when he stumbled across a new piece of evidence that nearly unlocked some great mystery. Ariadne felt severely uncomfortable.

"Ariadne," he said, voice low and smooth, causing goose bumps to trail up her arms. "I never disliked your model. In fact, I admired it very much. You think in ways that no one else does."

"Huh?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"It's true," said Arthur. "I apologize if I discouraged you in any way. It's just that, er—" He coughed slightly— "Well, your initial design before you even added everything else to it was very complex, and, well, I felt a bit anxious when you told me it was only a _draft_. I was a little nervous to see what it would look like when it was finished."

Ariadne raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"What you have now, it's genius," Arthur said, echoing his earlier sentiments from a few days before. The sincerity in his voice made Ariadne's heart swell. "I could not do justice to it, even in my dreams, just because of the sheer complexity of it."

"Oh."

They regarded each other in silence until Ariadne shyly spoke up. "I simplified the model a bit. It's much less intricate, but the complexities are still there. Just not as elaborate. The layout is far more clean cut and exciting." _Like you_, she added silently.

"I'm eager to see it," he responded.

Ariadne tilted her head towards her workspace. "I can show you now if you want. I think you'll like it better."

Arthur obliged and followed her.

When they reached her model, Ariadne almost immediately began explaining the layout, leading Arthur through all of the twists and turns. But for some reason, she couldn't concentrate her attention solely on her model, for she found that as she was explaining the layout, her eyes would flicker up towards his face, and more than once she caught his intense gaze. Flustered, Ariadne pointed out more and more areas of interest, while Arthur listened silently.

After almost ten minutes of non-stop speaking, Ariadne finally finished her "tour" and took a sip of her coffee. The foam was still fresh, and the coffee sweet on her tongue.

"So, what do you think?"

Arthur stared piercingly at her. "Elegantly byzantine," he responded.

Ariadne tried to laugh and shrug off his comment, but she felt paralyzed under his intense gaze. Why was he staring at her like that? He locked his dark eyes with hers, and it was a bit difficult to breathe.

Quickly, Ariadne took another sip from her mug, almost choking on the hot drink and looked down at her layout. "It still needs work, I know, but—"

"It's perfect, Ariadne," Arthur's low voice interrupted above her head.

She started, stunned that he was suddenly so close, and looked up to find his face mere inches but hers. She could smell his fresh cologne, and suddenly, Ariadne reached out hesitantly to him, her fingers just barely grazing the buttons of his waistcoat.

If Arthur was surprised, he did not show it. Instead, he cocked his head slightly to the side, studying her carefully, before he leaned his head in towards hers.

Almost instinctively, Ariadne closed her eyes, anticipating something she had not known she wanted so badly. As she tilted her chin up to meet his lips with hers, something slightly calloused pressed on top of her cupid's bow and dragged along the outlines of her upper lip, stimulating every single cell of her body.

Ariadne opened her eyes and met his close, close gaze, her whole body prickling with a delicious sort of heat. Just barely managing to piece together her scattered thoughts, Ariadne realized that the pad of his thumb, not his lips, was on her upper lip. But before she could gather her wits and pull away, Arthur gently stroked the slope of her jaw line with his index finger, inspiring a deep, wanting shudder that tingled the tips of her fingers and toes. Heat violently pooled in her core. Her body felt so _wired_, a conduit of electric desire and crackling energy.

For a blinding moment, as the thick silence bound them together, Ariadne felt as if her world were turned upside down, inside out. If this were a dream, she wanted to throw her chess piece totem into the depths of the deepest ocean.

"You had foam on your lips," Arthur finally murmured, pulling away his hand. He took out a small handkerchief and wiped his thumb gently.

Ariadne's hand shot to her mouth and her eyes widened as she too was brought back down and harshly grounded into reality. The implications of that brief moment came crashing into her like a wave.

As if realizing the same thing, Arthur backed up, maintaining a respectable and professional distance. He looked flustered, but he quickly regained his polished composure, as if nothing had happened.

Ariadne, on the other hand, was still spinning. "I thought you were going to kiss me or something," she blurted out. It took her a moment to realize what she had said, and probably for the millionth time in the span of the past hour, Ariadne felt her face heat up.

But Arthur, ever so cool Arthur, did not succumb to the sudden awkwardness of the situation. Instead of stumbling over his words like a schoolboy, he smirked down at her. "If I were to kiss you, Ariadne, you would know it for what it is. And you wouldn't even see it coming."

Ariadne didn't know what to say to that. She wanted to respond with something witty, to be calm and collected and more mature. But she came up with a blank. "I can never figure you out," she admitted.

He graciously bowed his head. "Figuring you out is like walking blind and deaf through a labyrinth. All anyone can do is feel their way around and hope that they stumble upon the right passage. I'll consider it a fair trade."

That said, he left, leaving Ariadne speechless.

An unbidden image of Yusuf in a fuzzy pink bunny suit floated to her mind. That, and toppling towers and an armful of shockingly red thread.

_Hello, Lady Weaver_, but this time, it was Arthur's voice that spoke the words.

Ariadne shook her head. She set down the coffee mug and fondly stroked the rim of the cup, thinking that she needed to stop working so late.

"If you're finished, I'll walk you home, Ariadne," said Arthur from across the warehouse. "It's dark."

Ariadne bit her lip and smiled a secret smile. Then again, maybe these late nights weren't so bad.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

* * *

><p><strong>End Notes<strong>: In reference to what I said earlier about coffee and the Enlightenment, if you are a history buff like me, I would recommend _A History of the World in 6 Glasses_ by Tom Standage. He's not a trained historian (meaning that he doesn't have a PhD in history, to the best of my knowledge) and the book should be read with a grain of salt. But while I don't necessarily endorse all of what he says in the book, I did find reading it enjoyable.

Now if only writing papers for my classes was as fun as writing this fic. :)


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